Through the Autumn Air

by Kelly Irvin

  Ezekiel cleared his throat. The chuckle that followed was weak, but clearly a chuckle.

  She ventured a glance. He winked at her.

  He winked.

  She nearly broke her neck in her haste to return to looking out the window. Goose bumps rippled across her arms and her neck. From the car’s air conditioner, for sure. Not from that ridiculous wink.

  She was cornered in a car with two silly men.

  That’s all, Moses, just silliness.

  “Ezekiel is sitting in the backseat of a police car. He just passed out in front of you. He probably doesn’t know how to act. Just like you. He’s embarrassed. Be nice.”

  Compassion and plain old common sense were two of Moses’ best qualities. She missed that about him. She missed everything about him.

  Her mind’s eye replayed the memory of Ezekiel’s collapse. Had her heart stopped beating? “You need to take care of yourself.” Notwithstanding the wink, she considered Ezekiel a friend, a member of her community, a member of her church family. “I don’t care to have anyone else keel over and die in front of me.”

  He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry to have scared you like that.”

  “Don’t do it again.”

  “Don’t get out until I open your door to help you.” Deputy Rogers shoved the gear in park and slid from the seat. Mary Katherine did the same.

  Of course, Ezekiel opened his own door, but she and Deputy Rogers managed to shepherd him into the clinic. She explained the situation to the receptionist and seconds later, Ezekiel, looking every bit as hangdog as her children when they got in trouble at school, disappeared into the back.

  Mary Katherine settled into a plush green chair while the deputy spoke to someone on his cell phone. The call lasted a long time. At least it seemed that way to her. She spent as little time on the phone as possible.

  Finally, he stuck the phone in his pocket and ambled her direction. “You really let this man Burke McMillan stay in your barn after he broke into your house?”

  The deputy had a one-track mind. “I did. He needed a place to sleep and I had one.”

  “What if he’d come back in and stabbed you in your sleep?” He eased into the chair next to her. “Or worse.”

  “If he’d been going to do that, he’d have done it to start with.”

  “That’s one scenario.” He leaned back and clasped his hands over his flat belly, his gun holster nestled against his leg. “The other one is that he’s a con man insinuating himself into a trusting, kind community so he can take advantage of its members.”

  “Advantage how? We don’t have money or jewels or much of anything worth stealing.”

  “I don’t know yet. The most valuable thing you have is your land, your farms. Your stores.”

  Burke didn’t seem much interested in material possessions. He hitchhiked across the country with a duffel bag containing all his earthly possessions. “You haven’t even met the man.”

  “He broke into your house.”

  “Not an auspicious beginning.”

  “Nice word. Auspicious.”

  “You think because we’re not educated, we can’t learn big words?”

  “I never said that.” He pulled his hat down over his eyes as if he planned to take a nap. “I had my guy look up Mr. McMillan. He is who he says he is. A Navy chaplain, retired. His daughter died of leukemia. Then his wife committed suicide.”

  Mary Katherine closed her eyes and examined the inside of the lids. Burke McMillan’s hurt and his pain and his suffering welled up inside her as if it were her own. The mystery of his desolate stoicism had been solved. “That doesn’t make him a criminal or a con man. Far from it.”

  “Maybe not, but it could make him unhinged. His family hasn’t heard from him in more than two years. What has he been doing? How has he been surviving?”

  “He’s hurting and trying to heal.”

  “How does he support himself?”

  “Not very well from the looks of it.”

  “By stealing.”

  “Prove it.”

  “I will.”

  They lapsed into silence, much to Mary Katherine’s relief. She smiled at the frazzled-looking mom with two little ones who took turns coughing, that terrible, loose, croupy cough she remembered so well. Her gaze wandered to the Highlights magazines on the table. She loved those stories.

  The door swung open. Cyrus Beachy strode in, his mammoth body blocking the sun that streamed through the doorway. His silhouette told her nothing of his expression. He made a beeline for her.

  “How is he?” The deacon’s voice was low, his tone neutral, the question directed at Deputy Rogers. “We were told he fell or fainted.”

  “Both.” Deputy Rogers stood and shook Cyrus’s hand.

  “Gott’s provision that you were there to help.” Cyrus nodded at Mary Katherine. “I have my buggy out front. I’ll take Mary Katherine to hers and get Ezekiel when he’s ready.”

  In other words, Go about your business.

  “It’s likely I’ll need to talk to Mrs. Ropp again.” Deputy Rogers slapped his hat on his head. “I’ll run by the restaurant later today to talk to Mr. McMillan.”

  It wasn’t a threat. Was it?

  FOURTEEN

  “Finally.”

  “Barbara!” Mary Katherine slammed the door behind her and turned to face her youngest daughter. “You scared me.”

  Barbara let the curtain on the front room window drop. She marched to the sofa and plopped down, her arms crossed over her chest. “Where have you been?”

  Helping at the restaurant. She’d convinced Cyrus that someone was needed to oversee the operation in Ezekiel’s absence. Burke was too new and the waitresses, however experienced, too young to have the entire weight on their shoulders. Mary Katherine ran the cash register and took care of to-go orders while visiting with customers and making sure the tables got properly bused. It had been busy but enjoyable. “Ezekiel passed out at the restaurant today. I helped out while he was at the doctor.”

  Barbara wanted all the details, which took a few minutes to impart. Mary Katherine eased into the rocking chair and rubbed her aching knees. Her feet hurt worse. Standing during her shift at the store followed by more standing at the restaurant had taken its toll. She left out the reason for Deputy Rogers’s visit to the restaurant and Burke’s story.

  And the wink. Ezekiel’s wink. What did that mean? She kept shoving the question into the corner the entire ride home, but like a recalcitrant child, it refused to stay there. Cyrus had returned after taking Ezekiel home from the clinic. The doctor’s diagnosis was diabetes. Not the kind that required the shots. Who knew there was such a thing? Either way, a serious condition that would require changes in Ezekiel’s life. He needed someone to take charge of his meals.

  He needed a wife.

  Most men did. Even when they didn’t have diabetes. Even the ones who owned restaurants. Especially the ones who owned restaurants. They didn’t have time to eat properly. Mary Katherine forced herself to concentrate. Her newlywed daughter sat in her front room when she should be home getting ready for bed. “What are you doing here? Where’s Joseph?”

  “He went to pick up some feed at his daed’s. They must’ve gotten to talking or something.” Barbara straightened her kapp, then plucked at a loose thread on her apron. “He knows I planned to come visit.”

  Rubbing her aching back, Mary Katherine rose and trudged to the sofa. Her feet longed to soak in Epsom salts and water. She sat next to her daughter. “It’s late for a visit.”

  “Yet you’re just getting home.”

  “I’m not a newlywed.”

  “Maybe you should be.” Barbara scowled. Sarcasm soaked her words. She looked just like the woman Mary Katherine used to see reflected in the store windows. Before the gray hair and wrinkles came for a visit and stayed. “You act like you want to be.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Everyone saw the way you fell all over Ezekiel at the wedding. It
was embarrassing.”

  “It was an accident.”

  “Now word is you jumped at the chance to ride in a police car with him.” Barbara shook her finger at Mary Katherine the way her mother used to do. Somehow roles had been reversed. “Everyone is talking.”

  “It was a sheriff ’s car and Ezekiel was sick. I was helping out a member of our community. Stop turning this around on me. How is married life?”

  “Everyone’s always so happy to get married.” Barbara’s tone deflated. “At least they always seem to be happy.”

  “I should hope so. They want to spend the rest of their lives with the people they love.”

  “It hasn’t been easy. But that’s beside the point. It doesn’t help that we’re all concerned about you.”

  “Don’t blame it on me, Dochder.” Putting two lives together as one took some doing. A little scooching this way, a little scrunching that way. “No one said it was easy. You don’t hightail it for home when things get rough. You and Joseph are in it for the long haul. Remember your vows. Remember your wedding day.”

  “It was fine while we were doing the visiting.”

  Others did the cooking and cleaning. Newlyweds helped out, but mostly they visited. “And now that you’re in your new home?”

  “It turns out, I’m not gut at it.”

  Mary Katherine scratched an itchy spot on the back of her dishwater-dry hand, contemplating. This was treacherous territory. Not much got said in Plain homes about certain topics. “Not gut at what, exactly? Your cooking is fine. Your sewing—”

  “Not gut at anything.” The girl wailed.

  “Some things take time.” The heat that roared across Mary Katherine’s face could’ve burnt the pasture grasses to a crisp. “If the mann is patient, you’ll relax and it won’t be so uncomfortable.”

  “Mudder!” Barbara jumped to her feet and began to pace. “Not that. I can’t believe you even said that. That’s, that’s, that’s—”

  “Ach, then tell me what ails you, child.” Another thought occurred to Mary Katherine. She couldn’t contain a smile. “Are you in a family way? Already? Nee, you couldn’t know that fast, but you could—”

  “Nee, not that I know of. It’s not that. I’m no gut at being in the house all day by myself. My garden is fine, but the house is messy and my bread dough didn’t rise and the kaffi tasted like brown water and I burned his shirt because I left the iron on the stove too long.”

  Not gut at it. Our girl isn’t gut at it.

  “You told me she wouldn’t be.”

  Not a good cook, not much of a sewer. Given to bouts of independence.

  “Like you.”

  Leave it to Moses to draw the line between those two points. “These are things you can learn to do better. Slow down. It’s not a race. Finish one task. Move to the next.”

  “Joseph has no patience. I put sugar instead of salt in the spaghetti sauce. It was awful. He asked me what I do all day. He said I needed to pay attention. He treated me like a little girl.”

  “He’s trying to help. He’s your mann. You have to respect his wishes.”

  “He’s a know-it-all. He’s bossy.”

  “He’s the mann.”

  “Mudder!”

  “Dochder, a fraa’s place is in the home, taking care of her mann and her kinner. You’ll have boplin soon and you’ll feel so happy, you’ll forget all about how hard it was at the beginning. That’s a promise.”

  “He says I’m just like you.”

  Her vices coming home to roost. “He should be more respectful of his elders.”

  “I’m beginning to think I need to come home and keep an eye on my elders.”

  “Very funny, child.”

  A rap at the door made them both jump.

  “Oops.” Barbara scowled. “I may have stayed too late.”

  “You said he was fine with you coming over here.”

  “I may have stretched the truth a bit. He’d been gone so long, I got bored and came over. I left a note.”

  Shaking her head, Mary Katherine stalked to the door and opened it. A scowl on his face that matched the one on his new wife’s, Joseph stood on the porch, arms crossed over his broad chest. “I’m looking for my fraa.”

  “Come on in.”

  “We’re just talking. I lost track of the time.” Barbara hopped up and scurried toward the door. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

  “It’s too late for talking.” Joseph stomped across the living room, his boots leaving bits of grass and leaves on the wooden floor. “You shouldn’t be traipsing around the countryside by yourself.”

  “It’s not that late.”

  “You always have to argue, don’t you?” He muttered something Mary Katherine couldn’t hear, but most likely along the lines of “like your mudder.” “You waited until I went to Daed’s and then sneaked out of the house like a girl on her rumspringa.”

  “Nee. I left a note.”

  “Let’s go.”

  “I’ll be by for a visit soon.” Mary Katherine patted Barbara’s shoulder as she passed. “We can start a new quilt. We’ll have the next frolic at your house.”

  “That would be gut.” Joseph spoke first. “Keep you both occupied.”

  “I’m plenty busy—”

  “He means me,” Barbara interrupted. She gave Mary Katherine a familiar look. Hush. Don’t stir the pot.

  The same look Mary Katherine used to give the children when they tangled with Moses.

  “Have a gut evening.” She closed the door behind them and leaned against it. How times had changed. Now her children thought they needed to stick their noses in her business. Even her youngest daughter, who had her own row to hoe.

  The perils of being an old widow woman with ten children. At least they didn’t live in a shoe.

  FIFTEEN

  Ezekiel was famous for his sweet tooth. Stealing cookies. Taking the last piece of pumpkin pie. Dessert for breakfast. His children loved it. Not anymore. Ezekiel smacked a rock with his boot, sending it flying down the dirt road. He kicked another one for good measure. The sun had disappeared behind the horizon. He should be sleeping. He should be at the restaurant cleaning up after the supper rush. The doctor had nixed that idea. Take a break, she said, eat some protein and some fruit. Drink plenty of fluids. That’s what she called water. Rest. Get back in the saddle tomorrow.

  A soft breeze cooled his face. He felt like a kid again, being told what he could and couldn’t eat. The dizziness, the constant thirst, the frequent trips to the bathroom. It all came down to one thing. Diabetes. No shots, not yet, not ever if he took care of himself and ate right.

  Eat right. Cut down on refined sugar. How was that different from plain old sugar? Exercise. The doctor had a whole list of things she wanted him to do, starting with using a whatchamacallit that measured his blood sugar—excuse me—his blood glucose—before every meal. Keeping track of what he ate to balance out the proteins and starches. No more chocolate pudding cake. No more whoopie pies. No more of Mary Katherine’s three-layer German chocolate cake. No more ice cream. What was this world coming to when a man couldn’t eat a bowl of ice cream before bed?

  No more cocoa. Unless it was sugar free. Also known as taste free.

  He owned a restaurant and spent six days a week working around food.

  “Stop whining. Big bopli.”

  A group of toads croaked in a gravelly concert. Joining his pity party. A dragonfly whizzed past him, headed toward the creek. No one disagreed with him.

  He kept walking. Walking counted as exercise, while standing on his feet at the restaurant did not. No meandering she said. A brisk walk. He picked up his pace, nearing the intersection where the dirt road met the highway. He would have to turn back soon. How much exercise did it take to work off a peanut butter and jam sandwich and an apple?

  Peanut butter was good protein, but it had sugar in it. Who knew? Strawberry jam had a lot of sugar in it. No one would know but him. And his blood glucose. “Ou
r little secret.”

  He snorted to himself. Acting like a spoiled brat, not a grown man.

  A car whizzed by on the highway. Another one. Then a truck. He started to do an about-face and then stopped. A dusty green minivan pulled over on the shoulder of the road and stopped. Burke got out, shut the door, leaned in the open window to say something, and then started down the road.

  “Hey.” He waved. “Fancy meeting you here.”

  “You hitched a ride?” Ezekiel waited for Burke to catch up to him. “I thought you would bring my buggy home.”

  “I don’t drive buggies.” His stride matched Ezekiel’s. “Besides, John brought Andrew into town to drive it home.”

  No one had bothered to tell him that. His son had insisted he go straight to the dawdy haus and “rest.” “And nobody gave a thought to how you would get here?”

  “I’m used to getting around on my own. So what did the doctor say?”

  “Nothing worth repeating.”

  “Come on. Anna said you passed out. Must’ve been something.”

  “I got the diabetes. Not the shot kind.”

  “Still, no fun. My dad had diabetes. My mom learned to make a lot of desserts with artificial sweeteners. He said you couldn’t tell the difference. Cookies and pudding. He even bought candy that was sugar free.”

  “I can’t wait.”

  Burke chuckled. “At least it isn’t your heart. Or cancer.”

  Or leukemia.

  “Do you have brothers and sisters?”

  “Only child.”

  “Aunts and uncles?”

  “On my dad’s side. Nobody I’m close to.”

  The wanderer had no real family, it seemed. “That’s hard for me to imagine.”

  “I got all the presents on Christmas morning and all the eggs on Easter.” Burke’s chuckle sounded grim. “It had its moments.”

  Lonely moments. “It’s a wonder you didn’t turn into a spoiled brat.”

  “Who said I didn’t? My parents took good care of me. They brought me up right.” His tone was lighter. “Deputy Rogers came to see me this afternoon.”

  “He told me he would.” Ezekiel veered off onto the well-worn path that would take them to the creek. He glanced back. “If you’re tired, go on up to the house. I’ve been told to exercise.”